


Damn It, Asgore, She's an Engineer, Not a Doctor

by GypsumLilac



Series: Warfell: Romance of Nations [1]
Category: Undertale
Genre: Body Horror, Horror, Loss of Limbs, Torture, Underfell AU, Using Music To Cope, Vivisection, Warfell, eye gore, mental detachment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-29
Updated: 2017-11-29
Packaged: 2019-02-08 10:47:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12862902
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GypsumLilac/pseuds/GypsumLilac
Summary: Alphys experiments on one of her test subjects.





	Damn It, Asgore, She's an Engineer, Not a Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> So I was curious to see, could I write eye gore/horror convincingly. I wrote this a while ago and posted it, but then took it down because I wasn't sure about it. But then I reread it and found that it was actually distressing. So now I'm putting it back up, unchanged because I didn't know what to change. If anyone has any suggestions, I would be glad to hear them. Hope you enjoy.

Bitter dust, earthy terror, and an overpowering salty despair combined on Subject W-10’s flickering tongue. There was a relieving absence of spicy sweetness to the air: the smell of overcooked noodles, blood, mucus, and sickly soda which always heralded W-10’s tormentor.

W-10 rapped its tail against the bars, ignoring the small flares of pain from the more recent nicks and bruises. The bar rung a gentle trill with the light blow, and a responding trill echoed through the dark hall. Another, deeper, sound trilled out from the cell to W-10’s right. The neighboring sound was repeated and then new sounds joined the mix, a motley of bars being struck by wings or paws or tails, or even faces. 

The music echoed in the long hall, each lonely cell taking up the tuneless amalgamation and joining their own notes to it. W-10 felt that it was the only real music in the world. W-10 believed it was the most beautiful music in the world. W-10 rapped it’s tail in an approximation of a harmonizing beat, and it felt for a moment a whelming communion and it believed for a moment that every other subject trapped inside their cells felt the same communion, that every fellow subject believed they were in it together and could make it out together.

The moment was ruthlessly destroyed by the scent of despair hanging thick on the air, not just a little bit belonging to W-10 itself. Its wings sagged, the feathers were worn and losing their brilliant colors. Even its scales were matte and greying. It could not see the other subjects but from the pained and weeping vocalizations- added to the stench of decaying angry hope and futile hatred- that filled the hall after some unlucky subject returned from a session, it knew everyone was losing the will to continue. Even now, the music died awkwardly into faint sobs and fainter laughter. W-10 curled its long scar-pocked body around and tucked its once-bright wings over its smooth blunt muzzle and tail. The cold seeped into its scales slowly, dragging the unwilling serpent into slumber on the unforgiving metal floor.

Around it, monsters of all shapes and sizes lay, some murmuring and restless, some limp, some pacing in angry denial, but all within separated metal cells along a cold dark hall. Gradually each occupant fell silent on the ground.

Asleep, the stiff bodies were only corpses in a cold and hopeless arena, waiting to die for the last time.

————

W-10 woke to the familiar scent of noodle-soda wafting over its protruding tongue, and a disturbing increase in the smell of mucus. The yellow fluorescent lights burned through its pupils, contracting the irises to golden moons around black slits. W-10 turned its head to glare at the tormentor standing before its cell. The tormentor stared back at W-10’s yellow eye, a crazed grin on her face and lust in her eyes. W-10 felt that it was doomed to pain. 

The tormentor unlocked the cell door and W-10 slithered obediently out; the memory of burnt flesh and locked muscles kept the subject from attempting anything as foolish as escape or rebellion.All the while, she was chattering non-stop about the latest show she had watched, or the most recent news from the capital. W-10 knew some subjects only held on to their last hopes to hear her ramble away in the twisted desire for some remnant of a good person buried beneath the sadistic merciless scientist. W-10 had a few choice words for those people. It kept the words to itself.

————

W-10 was strapped to a table. The table was bare and hard, covered in splotches of rust. W-10's slender head writhed against the leather neck restraint to keep one eye at all times on its tormenter. Its splayed wings flapped uselessly against their tightened leather cuffs. Even its long tail was tied down, only the very tip free to twitch nervously.

The tormenter grinned then, both at once nasty and pitying, calling to memory the times that nobody returned. The stench of her mucus was overpowering, yet the serpent continued to flicker its tongue in and out. A shiny blade caught W-10's dilated eye as it ticked sedately in a dingy-yellow scaled claw.

The tormenter said words, meaningless, her heat a sick pulse of lust and detached intrigue. W-10 hissed when the tip of the blade slipped between its scales and left welling blood and stinging pain. The cut streaked from just beneath W-10's jaw down down in between its wings down its stomach down its tail as pain and blood welled. The blade pulled away with a sick schlick. The tip of W-10's tail rattled against the table. Her sharp beak jaws separated and a thick tongue slipped out. Stinging noodle-smelling saliva spread on the cut as she licked in between the rent folds of skin.

She pulled away and grabbed small tongs. She then used those along with the blade to peel W-10's skin back along the first cut she had made. The scent of its blood only magnified the bitter fish smell of her mucus. Her eyes flickered like its tongue, flickered with a light that both terrified and excited W-10. She said words, words W-10 understood were meant for herself. She described each cut she made and W-10 lay smelling her scent and rattling its tail.

Then a sharp pain slid along W-10's wing. The wing beat rebelliously against its restraint and W-10 hissed again, drawing its broken fangs from their sheaths in an aggressive display. Blood pumped from the deepest cut along the length of its body. Giggles rung cold in its ears, a pulse growing slower and slower. The pain continued around the wing and the burning fire forced itself onto W-10, filling its body with undesired agony.

A snip jolted through W-10's body. Its eyes closed tight, calling on the memory of the music, calling on the scents of its fellows.

The memories fell away, consumed by angry flames and spears. Her laugh rung cold in W-10's ears. A pulse dimmed and dimmed. W-10 failed to notice the second wing taking on the same pain as the first had, failed to notice the snip before it was too late and its tail rattled and rattled against the metal table and a hiss echoed and broken fangs snapped uselessly.

A cold claw held the rattling tail still. W-10 felt the claw's quick pulses of joy at its interesting reaction. W-10 felt the ringing music in the hard metal against its back die away, making room again for the bloody agony of lost limbs and torn nerves. It snapped its jaws together, resting its head sleepily against the warm metal. The tormenter laughed, ringing ringing, and said words, echoes echoes, and blinding white shone in W-10's eye, contracting the pupil to a slit. The other eye focused on the dark tiles, avoiding the sight of the hacked off stump where its wing should be. Its tail rattled. The light disappeared and spots flickered in its vision until a violent and sudden pain shuddered through its entire spine. 

Its tail made no sound. It didn't have a tail. The tormenter growled words. W-10 hissed and snapped. The light returned, blinding its eye. A dark speck traveled across the white and grew closer.

The sharp blade tip touched its eye gently, drawing a bead of warm blood. W-10 remembered the music, saw the music dancing across the dark tiles, smelled its fellows beside itself. Its tail rattled. Its wings beat. It buried its fangs in her throat. 

The tip slid inside the pupil, all at once seeming fiery red and terrifying black and blinding white. The smell of mucus and blood and noodles was joined by a new scent. The sharpness invaded deeper, slicing W-10's eye into jellied ribbons.

Then the sharpness pulled away with a wet squlick. The dark tiles danced with the hazy memory of music. The gut-renchingly sweet smell of its eye filled its tongue and it hissed as loud as it could manage with such a sleepy dazed head.

The inside of the knife-pain blackness was scooped out by cold metal and left to bleed hot drips.

A word. The pulse dimmed. Another word, spoken in command. The pulse didn't want to respond. The music slowed, struggling through tar and spikes, ringing like death tones in its head.

Distant pains racked a slender scaled body. Distant writhings bled against firm restraints. Distant smells grew farther away.

Music rambled in a distant mind, struggling and failing to bestow hope upon the listener.

Distant voice cackled. Distant burn pinched and spread like fire.

W-10 didn't want to go back.

The fire forced it too.

**Author's Note:**

> Welp, was that horrifying or just funny? Either way, I think I'm glad as long as you enjoyed it. Please leave a kudos and a comment if so :) and thank you for reading


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